


Sylvhardt Week 2020

by altering



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blood, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Love Letters, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27442204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altering/pseuds/altering
Summary: Collection of writings for @Sylvhardtweek on twitter
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	1. Day 1: Confession | Love Letter

Linhardt awoke expecting normalcy. He opened his eyes with the expectation that this day would be just as dull and unremarkable as the one before. Not that he had a problem with ‘dull’ and ‘unremarkable’. He preferred going about the same mundane routine every day as opposed to the anxiety that came with unpredictability. He rolled out of bed, scorning the early autumn chill that greeted his skin. He shed his loungewear and donned his uniform. He tied his hair back with his usual ribbon. Normal. Routine. Perfect.

He prepared to leave for the dining hall, expecting the day to progress at the same ordinary pace with which it began, only for his expectations to be rudely shattered. He paused just a few paces from the door as his eyes caught something in his path. On his floor, laid just centimeters from his entryway, was an envelope. Judging by its placement, somebody must have slid it under his door while he slept. He tensed. The idea of someone visiting his room in the dead of night was deeply unsettling...and to deliver a suspicious note no less.

He knelt down to pick it up, examining the item carefully. There was nothing outwardly strange about it. It seemed to be just an ordinary letter. Flipping it over, he found his name written in effortless but neat cursive font. He measured the weight of its contents with his finger-pads, finding it was oddly heavy. He wanted to groan, agonizing over the thought of having to read some hefty, long-winded letter. That alone led him to believe that it was sent by his parents, either reminding him of the responsibility he carried as the sole heir of his house or scolding him for slacking on his studies (though he’d recently been putting forth an honest effort when it came to his classwork, due largely to the combined nagging from Edelgard, Hubert, and the Professor.)

Feeling a bit apprehensive, he tore the envelope. Within he found multiple pages of writing, matching the penmanship he’d seen on the back. He thumbed through each page, grimacing when he saw that they were all completely filled front and back. _Who in their right mind would expect me to read something like this?_ he thought loathingly. It clearly wasn’t written by someone with an awareness of his attention span. He nearly tossed the papers on his desk to either read at a later time or be forgotten altogether until he glimpsed at the salutation written atop the very first page.

‘My Dearest Linhardt’

_...Huh?_

He stared at the words confusedly. This was certainly not a letter from his family, nor from anyone he knew. _Is this...a love letter…?_ He thought incredulously. While he was no stranger to the concept, he’d never been the recipient of one. However, he had enough sense to know that such things were usually delivered in person. He skipped to the final page, expecting to at least find a signature, but there was no name to be seen. He wasn’t sure whether to be excited or revolted, so he settled for being curious. He couldn’t think of anyone off the top of his head that would be so infatuated with him as to write such a lengthy lamentation of their emotions, and somehow the idea of it being sent by someone he didn’t know was unappealing. After all, how well could a faceless admirer know him? And if they didn’t know him, how deeply could they care for him?

He seated himself on the floor, crossing his legs as he prepared to delve into the ravings of a stranger.

**_My Dearest Linhardt,_ **

**_Are you really taking the time to read this, I wonder? If so, I’m honored. I know how rarely you give attention to things you find undeserving of your energy, so I’m incredibly flattered if you’ve deemed me worthy. To have your lovely eyes fall upon my words would truly be a blessing._ **

_How unapologetically creepy,_ Linhardt thought with repugnance _. Is this really the type of person I’m attracting?_

_**Let me first say that I hope your morning has been pleasant.** _

_It was, until now._

**_I hope I might be able to witness such a sunrise with you someday, though I’m not sure which sight would be more beautiful; the radiance of the day’s first light, or your blissful expression as you awaken. I’ve tried to imagine it, but my mind is incapable of rendering such a divine vision._ **

_So creepy._

**_I’m not sure where to begin. I think I’ve been drawn to you since the day I laid eyes on you. That first encounter, you were reading in the courtyard outside of the classrooms. You weren't sitting on a bench, because I suppose that was just a little too public for you. No, instead you sat in a shaded corner by the wall where the ivy flourishes. A passerby might’ve failed to spot you, which I guess was your goal. But for some reason my gaze found you, and I thank the heavens every day that it did. You stole my breath the moment I beheld you.Your eyelids were heavy as you read, like you might drift off at any second. Despite that and the distance between us, I could see that they were a blue deeper than that of even the ocean. The way the sunlight streamed from between the foliage to dapple you through the shade gave you the essence of a hidden treasure, which I daresay is precisely what you were. I’m not sure if you were aware, but some of the ivy leaves were caught in your hair. It was cute, though. You looked like some sort of forest spirit, with your face as dreamy as it was. So much so that I feared blinking might cause you to vanish._ **

In all honesty, Linhardt had no recollection of that day, though he didn’t doubt that this person had seen him. That corner of the courtyard was a perfect spot to relax in the afternoons. _Perhaps I should scout for more secluded locations_ , he thought begrudgingly.

**_I’m sure you were oblivious to my presence, but all at once I was made aware of yours. Any glimpse I caught of you from then on, whether it be in the crowded dining hall or from across the marketplace, sent my heart into a frenzy. Even in the company of others, I found myself thinking of you. I’ve never heard you say my name before. I think most about how it would sound coming from your lips. Would it make me lose all composure? Would I be able to recover? It’s funny, isn’t it? You don’t know me, yet you have this incredible power over me._ **

**_...Should I describe your hold on me? Should I tell you how you occupy my fantasies throughout the day and night? No, maybe some things are better left unspoken. What kind of suitor would I be if I exposed so much in a single letter? Instead, I’ll settle for describing the feelings you invoke upon me. I’ve loved a fair number of people, but somehow when you’re near, I’m made to feel as though I’ve been struck for the first time. Not many individuals have the ability to render me speechless, but I find that your beauty never fails to leave me in awe. I’m sure you’ve been told before how pretty you are, there’s no way I could say it that would put all past remarks to shame. Everything about you, from your angelic features to the grace of your movements, leaves me breathless. I have to wonder if perhaps the Goddess looks favorably upon you to have made you so heavenly._ **

Linhardt sputtered at that.

**_Unfortunately, I’m not close enough to you to know if your heart already belongs to someone else. If that’s the case, I apologize for any awkwardness my letter may cause. How shameless you must think me to try and steal you away. Rest assured, I’m not that brazen. However, if by some miracle you have no romantic prospects, I would like to submit myself. Admittedly, I don’t have much to offer you. I can only promise to love you devotedly and thoroughly. The spell you’ve cast on me has caused me to lose interest in all others. I’m afraid I only have eyes for you now. I can promise to keep you company, whether it be while you nap or while you’re holed up in the library. I want to be there beside you, for every moment, no matter if you’re awake or asleep. I promise you support your curious nature. While I can’t say that I understand all of your goals or passions, I love the dedication with which you pursue them. You’re really quite incredible when you’ve committed yourself to something. You follow your inclinations, wherever they may lead. Maybe it was inclination that compelled you to read my note in the first place. Regardless, I’m happy you’ve humored me for this long._ **

**_It might be unfair of me to say all of this and then leave you to contemplate my identity, but I can promise that I won’t be unknown to you much longer. Don’t worry a hair on your pretty head, that’s not as ominous as it sounds. I only mean that soon we’ll have the opportunity to see each other more often. I hope you will at least consider allowing me into your life, if not as a lover then at least as a friend. I think I could be content with that. And if you find me unsuitable altogether, then I will understand. I’ll admire you respectfully from afar as I have since I saw you. I’ll go so far as to smother my feelings if they displease you. The last thing I want is to be a nuisance._ **

**_Well, we’ve arrived at the end. Or could this be the beginning? That’s up to you. My heart is in your hands. Do with it what you will. I anxiously await your response with bated breath._ **

**_I'll see you soon._ **

Linhardt shuddered. _That was...actually painful to read_ , he thought. _I am in immense physical pain right now._ He folded the papers and shoved them into his pocket, intending to sharw it with someone more versed in romantic gestures.

He decided to bypass the dining hall and go directly to class, finding that his appetite had abandoned him. He arrived before the rest of his peers, and he took a moment to skim his letter once more, squinting at it determinedly as if it held some code that he couldn’t decipher.

_Someone I don’t know well, if at all. Someone who likes to put their affections on display. Someone who’s experienced with professing their feelings. Probably someone I would never approach under normal circumstances._

Still, he drew a blank. He hadn’t the slightest clue who this person might be. He continued to ponder even as the room began to fill with his classmates, only returning to the present when he felt a hand clap his shoulder.

“Mornin’ Linhardt!” Caspar greeted him, plopping himself in the seat beside his friend. Linhardt murmured incoherently in reply, rubbing his shoulder where the other boy had smacked him. “We missed you at breakfast. Where were you?”

“Sorry,” Linhardt sighed. “I was a little preoccupied.”

Caspar tilted his head inquisitively. “Preoccupied? With what?” Linhardt held up the papers in his hand. “The heck is that?”

“A love letter, I think.”

“A lo–” Caspar echoed, his eyes slowly widening with realization. “Wait, what?!”

“I found it at my door this morning,” Linhardt elaborated, offering the note for Caspar’s inspection. “Honestly, I’m not sure what to make of it.”

Caspar took his letter, his eyes swiftly moving over each line. “Kind of a long read, isn’t it? No wonder you got held up.” He paused as he turned over the page. “...Sheesh, what’s with this writing?”

“Obnoxious, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, no kidding. Any idea who sent it?” he inquired as he handed the note back to his companion.

“No, I can’t so much as guess,” Linhardt said, folding the papers and returning them to his pocket. “I’m really not cut out to handle this sort of thing.”

“Well what’re you gonna tell this person if they confront you?”

Linhardt hummed thoughtfully and rested his chin in his hand. “I’m not sure yet, though I think I’d like to know who they are before I come to any decisions.”

“Hang on, you’re actually considering dating this weirdo?”

Linhardt shrugged. “Maybe.”

“But...why?” Caspar asked, baffled. “Didn’t you just say you thought their note was obnoxious? Why would you reward that?”

“I don’t know why, exactly,” Linhardt admitted. “I suppose I’m just curious.”

Caspar opened his mouth to say something else, but he was interrupted as Byleth made his way to the front of the classroom, eyeing the boy as he went.

“I don’t remember reassigning your seat, Caspar,” he said cooly, sending the young noble scurrying back to his proper place. Byleth’s gaze followed him until he arrived at his desk, at which point his posture relaxed. “Right. So uh...before we get started, just one small announcement. Starting today, we have a new addition to our class.”

Murmurs rippled through the group. From the back of the room, someone called out, “Another one?” The professor appeared momentarily self-conscious, and he cleared his throat to silence the chatter.

“...As I was saying, I expect you all to welcome him with the same enthusiasm that you’ve shown our other transfers.” Linhardt watched his teacher’s eyes settle on someone behind him as he addressed the new student directly. “Is there anything you’d like to add?”

Linhardt cast a careless glance over his shoulder, mildly interested to see who the new arrival was. His gaze fell on a head of fiery hair and golden eyes that seemed to instantaneously lock with his own, as though they’d been waiting for him to turn around.

Odd.

Sylvain did not so much as blink upon making contact with Linhardt. He only allowed his attention to stray for a moment as he briefly swept the room. “No, I think you just about covered it, Professor. I don’t have much else to say except I’m thrilled to be here.” Suddenly his eyes were on Linhardt again, not looking at him, but _into_ him. When Sylvain spoke again, time seemed to slow around them, and the mage felt his pulse cease as his mind began to connect the dots. “ _I hope we can become closer to one another._ ”

Linhardt shivered, recalling the words he’d read in his letter. ‘I can promise that I won’t be unknown to you for much longer.’ He quickly turned away, failing to witness the delight in Sylvain’s expression. He could not bring himself to retain focus for the duration of the class as he felt those unrelenting eyes boring into the back of his head. His skin became feverishly warm and his heart pounded vigorously, seeming to wrack his entire frame.

 _How strange_ , he thought. _My mind is a fog and my body feels as though it’s burning. I must be coming down with something._ He ventured another glance behind him, unsurprised to find that Sylvain still stared at him with unwavering intensity. Linhardt swallowed with great difficulty. _Yes, that must be it. I must be getting very, very ill. I must be horribly and hopelessly...sick_.


	2. Day 2: First Time | Academy Time

Garreg Mach was peaceful in the evenings. After the dinnertime crowd had dispersed, the final chores had been completed, and the students began to retreat to their dorms, a sense of drowsiness settled within the walls of the monastery. The sunlight that shone brightly through the ornate and multitudinous windows during the daytime turned dusky, illuminating the halls with a gentle, rosy glow. The upper floors were especially vacant, as the teachers had abandoned their offices for the day. The only voices to be heard came in the form of echoes from the stray students who still lingered in the reception hall below. This was truly the day’s most tranquil hour.

That was Linhardt’s belief, at least. With the halls sparsely populated and no excited chatter from his peers to distract him, he found that there was no better time to pay the library a visit. It was becoming something of a ritual–he’d slip away immediately after dinner, taking care to escape before Caspar could drag him into a late night training session or before Hubert could scold him for shirking his chores. He mentally apologized to both of them, but the only commitments he cared about were to his own studies.

He was the sole occupant of the library this particular night. He typically was, save for the rare instances where some poor soul came to pull an all-nighter cramming for an exam that they’d neglected to prepare for. Even so, there were never more than 3 people at a time–himself included–and the others usually left before he did. But he relished the solitude, preferring the company of books over humans. He stood before one of the shelves closest to the doorway, skimming the pages of Saint Indech’s biography and inwardly debating whether this would be his read of the night. He had just returned the book to its spot on the shelf when a frantic movement in his peripheral caught his attention.

He recognized Sylvain immediately, although the expression he wore was one he’d never seen on the young noble’s face before. He flew through the entrance like a bat out of hell, looking panicked and wild. Linhardt guessed that he’d been running for a while, as his face glittered with droplets of sweat and his breath came in heavy pants. His eyes darted about the library, as if he hadn’t realized what room he’d just entered.

“Shit, I thought this was–”

From the distance came Sylvain’s name–called by a girl’s voice, with all the rage and wrath of someone out for blood. The redhead spun in its direction, visibly startled at the sound. His eyes then resumed their fervent scanning, taking stock of his surroundings until they finally fell on Linhardt, who observed him with a mix of irritation and curiosity.

“Thank heavens,” Sylvain sighed with relief. “You gotta help me!”

Linhardt frowned. “Beg your pardon?”

“I’m in the slightest bit of a jam here,” the Gautier explained, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder. “It’s just a tiny bit of trouble, really. I just need you to cover for me real quick while I find someplace to hide. Can you do that?”

“...I’ll say it again; beg your pardon?” Linhardt said, his annoyance growing.

Sylvain’s shoulders slumped as though his own patience were dwindling. “Look, I don’t have a ton of time to explain. All I can say is that a couple of the girls I’ve been seeing had a little run-in with each other. Things got...a little _dicey_ , and now one of them is currently trying to separate my head from my body. Now please, if she stops by and asks where I am, tell her you haven’t seen me. Can you do that?

 _Typical_ , Linhardt thought with disgust, revolted to see that the countless rumors he’d heard about Sylvain’s disgraceful antics were proving true. “...You understand that this has nothing to do with me, right? I’d really prefer not to insert myself into other people’s affairs, especially when they’re as messy as yours.”

“C’mon, please?” Sylvain groaned, folding his hands into a begging gesture. “You don’t wanna see me thrown to the slaughter, do you? You’d be doing me a huge favor!”

“Not to sound apathetic, but I don’t really care. I’m more inclined to let that girl do as she pleases with you. It seems only fair, based on what little information you’ve given me.”

Sylvain looked at him despairingly. “Damn it Linhardt, where’s your sense of compassion?” Suddenly another shout came reverberating through the halls, much closer this time. Sylvain whipped around to face the door before turning to Linhardt again. “Crap, there’s no time.”

With speed that was nothing short of inhuman, Sylvain took Linhardt by the arm and pulled him into the corner closest to where he stood. From there, it would be difficult to spot them if someone were to simply pass by the doorway. Linhardt’s breath had been forced from his lungs, though he wasn’t sure whether it was from the force by which he’d been handled or how close he now was to Sylvain. Their bodies were packed tightly together in the small space. To a clueless third party, it may have appeared that Sylvain was protecting Linhardt as he loomed over his slightly-smaller peer. Linhardt, meanwhile, blinked several times as he worked to collect himself.

“What do you think you’re–”

“Ssh!” Sylvain hissed, briefly glancing at his junior before staring fixedly at the entrance. Loud, furious footsteps could be heard drawing closer, and Linhardt’s heart began to beat a bit faster.

“Are you trying to drag me down with you? I told you, I don’t–”

“Hush!” Sylvain’s hand appeared over Linhardt’s mouth, gentle but insistent. The mage flinched at the contact, sparks igniting beneath his skin where the other man’s body met his. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. He was unused to people touching him, let alone in such a familiar manner. He was ashamed of how a small part of him seemed to welcome the unexpected contact.

He pushed the feeling aside, tapping Sylvain’s wrist to indicate he was displeased with the act. Sylvain tossed him an apologetic look before lowering his palm. “Sorry, that was rude of me,” he whispered.

“That’s putting it lightly,” Linhardt shot back, matching the other’s tone. “I have half a mind to hand you over for that alone.”

“Please don’t,” Sylvain begged as he continued to eye the door, though the corners of his lips appeared to twitch with the beginning of a smile. Linhardt’s eyes were incapable of parting from him. The thin sheen of sweat upon his face made his skin glisten in the candlelight, and he could see the young knight’s pulse thrumming beneath the exposed skin of his neck. He drew heavy breaths, each inhale expanding his broad chest and pressing him closer to Linhardt. Something about this–something about Sylvain’s suffocating proximity–set his nerves alight. But whyever could that be…?

“What?”

Linhardt’s eyes met Sylvain’s, which had momentarily abandoned their view of the doorway. They now looked down on him, golden rings shining as if they held a light all their own. Linhardt quickly shook his head, turning away and praying that the quickening pace of his heart had gone undetected.

“Nothing…”

Sylvain eyed him. It was difficult to say for sure given the poor lighting, but Linhardt’s cheeks seemed to be tinged with warmth as he looked determinedly at some undefined point. Of course, it very well could have been Sylvain’s imagination. His observational skills were not performing at their peak as his attention was split between the boy huddled against him and the infuriated voice just yards away, shouting his name from what he imagined were snarling lips. Despite the direness of it all, something about this predicament was rather thrilling, or even romantic; stealing away to the library as evening fell upon the monastery, retreating from an assailant and happening upon an unsuspecting–and pretty–bystander with whom he found himself physically and circumstantially entangled.

 _Is this what they call a ‘meet-cute’?_ Sylvain wondered, his focus slowly diverting from the imminent danger down the hall to hone in on Linhardt. The mage was still actively avoiding his eyes.

“She’s coming around the corner,” Linhardt cautioned, a minute amount of trepidation sneaking into his voice.

As if ice-water had been splashed onto his face, Sylvain returned to his senses. Without realizing, he coiled both arms around Linhardt and pulled him closer yet, attempting to make both of them as compact as possible in the corner. Linhardt grunted softly as the air was forced from his chest, but he did not protest. If the girl Sylvain had slighted entered the room and found them in such a position, they’d both be in for a world of hurt. As much as Sylvain probably deserved that punishment, Linhardt wasn’t about to sacrifice himself to see it to fruition.

Besides, this situation wasn’t altogether unpleasant. The library was terribly drafty and Sylvain’s firm embrace was all too inviting. The young noble’s scent encircled Linhardt just as his arms had. Though musky and earthy, it wasn’t repulsive in the least. Beneath it, there permeated something almost perfumey in nature. Residual odor from whatever soap Sylvain bathed with, he guessed, concocted from spices and other flora that Linhardt could never hope to identify. He cursed himself for the way it caused his thoughts to stray.

Suddenly a shadow appeared in the room, cast onto the floor against the light that beamed in from the hallway. The two students held their breath as their peer outside tried to catch hers. She lingered in the doorway, and Linhardt could just barely see the edge of her silhouette at the entrance. He clung to Sylvain on reflex, both of them stiff as corpses. The shadow elongated, as if the girl had begun to wander into the room.

 _Of all the ways I thought I might meet my end_ , Linhardt thought bitterly, _this has got to be the most absurd._

Just as he readied his final prayer to the Goddess, the shadow shifted again. It looked as though the girl had shaken her head, dismissing some unknown thought before resuming her sprint down the hall. Neither Sylvain nor Linhardt moved, lest the maiden check their hideaway once more. Only when the sound of her running footfalls faded completely did Linhardt allow himself to relax. His body became limber in Sylvain’s grasp, and the older boy eased up in turn. But he did not release Linhardt. The mage found that peculiar.

“Your heart’s working overtime there, isn’t it?”

Linhardt glared at Sylvain from the corner of his eye. The redhead grinned down at him knowingly, any threat to their safety long forgotten already.

“You can’t blame me,” Linhardt grumbled “It is your fault, after all. Disrupting my evening and roping me into your personal conflicts...honestly.”

Sylvain laughed softly at him. “Am I also to blame for that blush on your cheeks?”

Linhardt’s head snapped in his direction. A subdued satisfaction had infected the other’s smile, and he suddenly felt closer than ever. “Of course,” Linhardt replied nonchalantly, so as not to add to whatever perverse amusement Sylvain found in teasing him. “You’re holding me much too tightly...and your body is too warm…”

“That so?” Sylvain mused, flashing an especially flirtatious smile. “Well if it’s so uncomfortable, then why aren’t you struggling?”

Why indeed. In spite of his grievances, Linhardt could not find it in himself to push Sylvain away. On the contrary, he felt like he was sinking into him. Perhaps it was the endorphins lingering in his veins, or the comfort of Sylvain’s arms, or the fear that their assailant might return, but something in him demanded that he stay put–that he prolong this moment. 

“I’m not sure...”

Sylvain hummed meditatively. “That’s fine. I can’t say that I have any complaints, holding you like this.” Linhardt felt a finger draw small circles between his shoulder blades and shivered. Sylvain, meanwhile, observed him intently. “Now that I’m seeing you up close...you’re actually very pretty.”

His statement was nothing but honest. There had never been any question that Linhardt was objectively attractive, but when he was flushed and just a bit disheveled, that modest and effortless beauty seemed magnified. Linhardt frowned disapprovingly at the comment but his blue, doe-eyed gaze betrayed some contrasting sentiment. Delight, maybe? No. It was closer to fascination, matured from the indifferent curiosity that he’d exhibited upon seeing Sylvain stumble into the library just minutes before. Pleased to have captured his classmate’s interest, Sylvain made a daring move to brush away single strands of hair that had become stuck to Linhardt’s cheeks from their mad rush for cover. Linhardt’s eyes flicked restlessly between Sylvain’s unblinking stare and the fingers upon his face. The pounding of his heart resumed in earnest and Sylvain could feel it pulsing against his own chest.

“Not used to so much excitement in one night, are you?” he said gently.

Linhardt’s jaw tightened, but he gave no response. _He’s toying with me. That’s all this is. It’s just a game. Just a ploy to get a rise out of me–_

His thoughts were disrupted as Sylvain’s thumb ventured to the corner of his mouth, where one last strand of hair remained stubbornly plastered. He swept it away with ease but his thumb lingered, delicately tracing the very edge of Linhardt’s lower lip. The mage unclenched his jaw as his breath left him, and his lips parted just slightly to release what little air remained in his lungs.

“What are you doing?” Linhardt’s voice was soft, as his throat had become inexplicably dry.

Sylvain’s smile remained, though there was a newfound seriousness to his expression. He did not answer. Instead, his eyes fell to Linhardt’s open mouth while the pad of his thumb swept along his bottom lip once more. He tilted his head, leaning closer to Linhardt with painstaking slowness.

“What–”

“I’m curious about something,” Sylvain interrupted before Linhardt could repeat his question. He propped the younger man’s chin on his fingers, angling his face so that he had no choice but to look at his captor.

Linhardt did not fight it. Even as Sylvain closed in on him, he could not find it in himself to object. His mind felt crowded and blank at the same time. He felt anxious, yet there was no desire to flee. His fingers curled into the fabric of Sylvain’s shirt as the space between them became smaller and smaller. Perhaps it was his own curiosity that compelled him. He would concede later that that wasn’t entirely true, but it was a sufficient excuse in the moment. It wasn’t because Sylvain was charming. It wasn’t because he felt secure and safe in his arms. It wasn’t because he looked at Linhardt with a fixation that he’d never witnessed before. No. It was bare, simple curiosity...right?

There was the fleeting sensation of Sylvain’s breath on his skin before they connected. Their lips were wary. They did not press with confidence, but with timidity–testing each other’s waters and savoring the novelty of feeling one another’s lips for the first time. It was a restrained and unsure kiss, but thrilling all the same. Their heartbeats seemed synchronized, and Linhardt found himself leaning closer as his eyelids fell. He was dimly aware of Sylvain’s hand on the small of his back gripping him with slightly greater force, but neither made a move to deepen the kiss. They let it exist only on the surface. They let it be what it was.

Sylvain pulled back first, contemplating whether to make another move when he saw the dazed look upon Linhardt’s face. He decided against it, figuring he’d already gotten himself in enough trouble for one day.

“Wow,” he said, smirking down at his companion. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

Linhardt’s moony expression turned to a glare before Sylvain could even blink. “Why did you do that?” he asked, prying himself from the other’s grasp.

Sylvain chuckled good-naturedly, “What, you’ve never kissed someone on a whim before?”

The Adrestian felt heat pool in his cheeks all over again. “No,” he said, somewhat defensive, “I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

Sylvain stopped laughing and looked dumbly at Linhardt. _Well...shit._ He wasn’t sure what to say. When was the last time he’d been someone’s first anything…? He couldn’t recall, but it was far enough in the past to make him feel guilty.

“Oh,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck rather bashfully. “Uh...sorry. Guess I shouldn’t have been so assuming, huh?”

“You think so?” Linhardt bit back, running his hands over his clothes to smooth out the creases.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Linhardt sighed, “What’s done is done. Besides...it wasn’t so terrible...”

Sylvain seemed to brighten, hazarding a glance at Linhardt who still tended to his rumpled uniform. “No?”

“No. You were...very gentle. I expected someone like you to be graceless and demanding, but you were surprisingly...kind. I guess that’s the right word.”

“Thanks...I think,” Sylvain said, not sure whether he should feel pleased or insulted. Before he had time to say anything else, a door slammed somewhere on the third floor. They both flinched at the sound, and Sylvain moved cautiously to peek out of the doorway.

“Ah. Sounds like she’s making her rounds again,” Sylvain said with a laugh, but his voice was weighted with nervousness. He cast a reluctant glance over his shoulder to Linhardt. “Are you gonna be okay if I make a run for it?”

Linhardt rolled his eyes. “I’m sure that I’ll be perfectly fine once you’re out of my hair.”

Sylvain gave a sideways grin, not at all injured by his words. “Alright then. I’ll be off. Thanks for helping me out.”

“I don’t know how helpful I actually was, but I suppose you’re welcome.”

Sylvain laughed again, genuinely this time, and took a few steps out of the room. “And hey,” he said, turning back one final time, “thanks for letting me be your first.” Then, as abruptly as he’d appeared, he was gone.

Linhardt stood in the silence for a while, his brain still working to process all that had transpired in the past several minutes. He exhaled heavily, leaning his back against a shelf and ghosting his fingertips over his lips. _Not bad_ , Sylvain had said. What a strange thing to utter after kissing someone, let alone someone he barely knew. Still, Linhardt’s mouth drew a small, distant smile.

 _No...I guess it wasn’t bad_ , he admitted silently. _Not bad at all._


	3. Day 4: Fears & Insecurity | Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: blood/violence, death, allusion to suicide

_What a day…_

Sylvain had no other words–no other words existed to summarize such a tormentous and emotionally-taxing day. The seizure of Fort Merceus had proven far more grueling than anyone could have predicted. It seemed that the further the Kingdom army ventured into Adrestia, the more dire their battles felt. Each victory was harder to attain than the one before, and each fight brought forth more and more familiar faces.

Sylvain fought alongside several of his former classmates who otherwise held no loyalties Faerghus; Yuri and Hapi had agreed to lend their strength to the cause—though each of them seemed to have an agenda all their own—and Leonie and Lysithea both had left their homes to rejoin their old peers. But from the Empire came only Linhardt; Linhardt, who was distrusted by many because of his birthplace and the inordinate amount of time he spent alone; Linhardt, who hated to fight but had chosen to rebel; Linhardt, whose motivations for defecting were unknown to everyone except Sylvain; Linhardt, who loved and was loved by Sylvain.

He was worried about him now. No one else had seen what transpired earlier that day, but Sylvain had. Sylvain had watched when Caspar lunged at the mage. Sylvain watched when Linhardt cast Bolganone upon his old friend. Sylvain and Linhardt both watched as the flames engulfed him with their ravenous tongues. Sylvain watched Linhardt withdraw the blaze as quickly as he’d summoned it. Sylvain watched Linhardt run to his fallen companion’s body and take him into his arms. And he’d watched as not a single tear fell from his eyes.

He’d also been watching when Linhardt strayed from the rest of the army as they made camp on the way back to Garreg Mach. Sylvain searched for him, following his path through brush and brambles until the thickets gave way to a clearing. At its center was a pond, and Sylvain could make out his partner’s figure standing at the edge of it, silhouetted by moonlight. He thought about calling out, then decided against it. Maybe Linhardt just wanted solitude...a moment to mourn privately before returning to his comrades, in which case Sylvain would simply stand by until he was ready to go back. He’d stand guard silently, just in case any Imperial soldiers happened to be wandering nearby.

Linhardt stood at the bank for minute after minute, so still that Sylvain wondered if he was even breathing. Was he holding some kind of vigil by himself? Was he in a state of shock? Or was this just the form his grief had taken? Sylvain worried briefly that the bishop had fallen asleep on his feet, until he at last began to move. He appeared to be taking off his boots, loosening them and kicking them off rather haphazardly before standing motionless once more. Sylvain thought perhaps he was preparing to take an impromptu bath, but he made no attempt to shed the rest of his clothes. The soldier’s blood turned icy in his veins. This reeked of something ominous, something he didn’t dare name. Surely not...surely Linhardt’s despair was not so deep that he would…?

He watched as Linhardt took a step forward into the water and his stomach plummeted. His body did not wait for his brain to formulate a plan. He broke into a sprint, yelling Linhardt’s name in an act of pure desperation. The Adrestian turned to see his partner running to him, and Sylvain only had a second to observe his tear-soaked face before they collided. He nearly bowled the smaller man over. His momentum caused Linhardt to stumble further into the pond, so deep that the water rose to their hips. Sylvain’s arms closed around the other, gripping him too tight for comfort. The breath was squeezed out of Linhardt in an audible grunt, but Sylvain paid it little mind. He preferred to force air from his lungs rather than water.

“Sylvain...Wh–”

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Sylvain snapped, pulling away from Linhardt to hold him by the shoulders. Linhardt said nothing. He seemed to be stunned from the impact. “Lin, answer me! What are you doing?”

Linhardt blinked at him several times, leftover tears spilling from his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. His expression remained stagnant as his gaze slowly dropped from Sylvain to the water that consumed half of their bodies. “I don’t know…” he replied, sounding far away. “I just...the water…I wanted to be in the water…”

Sylvain’s brow furrowed, but his face and his tone softened, “Why?”

Linhardt looked back at him, blinking again. “I wanted...to be clean.”

“What are you talking about?”

Linhardt lifted his trembling hands and Sylvain looked down at them, drawing a sharp breath as he did. They were dappled with crimson smudges, likely from where the mage had cradled Caspar’s body. His theory seemed to be confirmed as he observed the dark stains upon Linhardt’s clothes. Goddess, he was coated with it. How had he not seen it before? Sure, bloodstains were commonplace after a battle but Linhardt made an active effort to avoid them whenever possible. To see it spilled on him in such quantity made Sylvain’s skin go cold.

“Caspar’s…?”

Linhardt nodded, and his eyes began to well. “It’s all over me,” he said, his voice quivering. “I can _feel_ it on me, I can feel it _everywhere_ …!”

Sensing an approaching state of hysteria, Sylvain pulled Linhardt to his chest. He held him firmly, though not smothering him as he had before. He stroked the younger man’s hair with one hand in an attempt to quell his fretful mind.

“It’s okay,” Sylvain tried to soothe him.

“But it isn’t,” Linhardt argued, “I killed him...I burned him to death Sylvain, how is that okay?!”

Sylvain pressed his mouth into a thin line, carefully crafting his response before he allowed it to leave his lips. “Because he was going to kill you, too.”

Linhardt was silent.

“I saw him charge at you. He wasn’t holding anything back, he fully intended to take your life. If you’d hesitated for even a second, he would have…”

Sylvain faded out. He couldn’t even bring himself to utter what might have happened if his partner had faltered. _He’d be having the same crisis you are_ , he assured Linhardt silently. _He would be just as upset, if not more so. How could anyone possibly live with themselves knowing that they’d hurt you?_

“I should have stepped in,” Sylvain concluded. “I shouldn’t have let you carry such an unbearable weight. I shouldn’t have let him come after you in the first place, I–”

“No,” Linhardt interjected softly, his face still buried against the knight’s chest. “No...it had to be me. I don’t think that he would have accepted anything less. I understand that, and yet…”

Sylvain pressed his lips to the crown of Linhardt’s head. “Think of it as you fulfilling his final wish, then,” he murmured.

“Yes, how generous of me to grant such a lofty request,” Linhardt replied, his words dripping with sardonicism. “I truly am a Saint among men.”

“Lin…”

“They ought to erect a statue of me in the cathedral for such a noble deed; murdering my dearest friend in some sort of mercy-killing...Goddess, I think I’m going to be sick.”

Sylvain continued to pet Linhardt’s hair as he carried on. Try as he might, he knew there was no consoling him. He was unreceptive to every form of comfort Sylvain could offer. But that was fine. If he needed to ramble and weep over his actions, then he’d let him. He would stand there as long as he desired, surrounding him like a shield until he regained the strength to stand on his own. He had nothing else to give; no wisdom, no healing words, no reassurance. Only his presence.

Moving slowly and carefully, Sylvain eased Linhardt away from his torso to reveal his dampened face. Red pigment had gathered upon the fair skin of his nose and eyes, and Sylvain barely refrained from making a comment about how even in the throes of despair he was beautiful. The Gautier brought his hands to hold Linhardt’s wrists. Despite the crimson spatters on his palms, Sylvain pressed his slender hand against his cheek, maintaining eye contact with his lover all the while. Linhardt’s eyes grew wide with confusion and horror at the action.

“S-stop...you’ll be–”

“It’s fine,” Sylvain lulled, nestling his cheek against his palm, “I want to feel what you feel. I want your pain to be my pain. I can’t bear to think of you suffering alone...so we’ll share.”

Linhardt’s lips twitched, but he said nothing. Taking his silence as acknowledgement, Sylvain ushered him deeper into the pond, only stopping when the water reached their elbows. He dipped Linhardt’s hands under the surface, his own fingers caressing every ridge of the bishop’s bones and tendons until they were clean. He lifted them from the depths, showing the blameless skin to his partner.

“Is that better?”

Linhardt nodded shortly, sniffling as Sylvain planted kisses upon each of his knuckles. He released Linhardt’s hands in favor of cupping his cheeks, his gloved thumbs stroking the dark smudges from his face.

“Are you cold?” Sylvain asked, noting the way Linhardt had begun to shudder in short intervals.

“A bit,” he mumbled.

“I’ll get a fire going for us when we get back to camp, somewhere away from the others.”

“Thank you.”

“And you can sleep in my tent tonight if you like.”

“Thank you.”

The next few seconds were spent in silence as Sylvain washed away the little blood that remained on Linhardt’s face. When he was done, he took a moment to admire his work.

“There,” he said with a restrained smile. “All gone. I’ll take care of your clothes too, when we get back. I think I brought along some extra shirts, though Felix is probably closer to your size. If you want, I can ask him–”

“Sylvain…”

“What?”

His answer came in the form of soft lips catching his own, latching onto him with barely-contained desperation. Sylvain accepted him, exhaling deeply as they melded together.

“Why can’t you just let me be miserable?” Linhardt asked, just slightly parting from Sylvain.

“You forfeit your right to misery when you decided that you loved me,” the redhead answered with a smirk.

Linhardt huffed and pecked Sylvain’s lips again before using the cuff of his sleeve to wipe away the blood he’d unwillingly smeared on his partner’s cheek. “A small price to pay, I suppose.”

Sylvain curled his arms around Linhardt’s waist and pulled their bodies tightly together, reuniting their lips as he did. They kissed more forcefully this time, navigating each other with intimate familiarity until they fit perfectly together. He savored him; the chill of his skin, the warmth of his tongue, the salt of his tears, the sweetness of his touch. It was heaven made tangible. When finally they separated, Linhardt’s body was shaking somewhat violently and Sylvain, too, began to feel the cold of the water through his armor.

“Ready to go back?”

Linhardt nodded adamantly, not objecting when Sylvain took his hand and guided him back to shore. The night air on their soaked bodies only enhanced the cold, and they walked back to the campsite pressed closely to one another; sharing their heat just as they shared all else.


End file.
